Till Death
by windscryer
Summary: "Hold on," Steve said, He wrapped his gloved fingers under the edge of the mask and yanked sharply upwards, prying it free with a screech. Blood cascaded down Tony's face from somewhere under his hairline and joined the spill from his mouth, giving him a garish mask of pseudo-warpaint, but his eyes focused on Steve. That's all that mattered right now. [Steve/Tony] Character Death.


This is absolutely 100 percent musicalluna's fault. She made a post about their rings and then said a thing in chat about them dying and then I was like "what if" and she was like "DO IT OH MY GOD NOW" and we both felt terrible at the end, but what is the internet for if not sharing your mistakes and feels for all the world to stare in horror with you?

* * *

"Steve?"

It was a dry rasp, barely audible, but Steve's ears had long since attuned themselves to that voice. The others liked to joke that in the middle of a fireworks show finale Steve could hear that voice humming.

They probably weren't wrong.

The important thing was that he heard it now. He was sure that he'd never hear it again after the last explosion.

"To—" He got cut off by a wracking cough, doubling over and clutching at his stomach as fire lanced through his torso, zinging back and forth like stray lightning bolts from Thor's hammer. When it finally passed and he was done carefully gasping for air, he licked the fresh blood from his lips and tried again. "Tony?"

"Steve." It was an exhaled breath, relieved even drenched in pain as it was. "Steve."

"Tony," Steve said, pressing one hand to the gaping wound that had been his gut before the shrapnel tore through it. Now it was a bloody painful mess that was making it hard to focus for all the attention it demanded of him. But really, how much worse could it get at this point? He grit his teeth and rolled onto his stomach. After a moment to press his forehead to the cool metal of the floor and suck in a several breaths, he lifted his head and peered through the thick smoke and burnishing glow of the scattered fires.

He needed to get to Tony, make sure he was okay. He might or might not survive this, but he was damn well going to make sure Tony did.

"Tony?" he called when he realized he couldn't see any hot rod red or gold. He coughed and spit up more blood, then looked once more. "Tony?" he called louder.

"'M here," Tony said. There was a grunt and the scrape of metal on metal. A pained cry and a crash followed and Steve's heart thumped painfully.

"Tony," he panted. "I'm coming. Stay there. I'm coming to you."

Each inch cost him, pain spiking and ebbing as he used that long ago training to crawl forward. There were no barbed wire lines overhead, but it kind of felt like they were underneath him now.

"I'm coming," he repeated, a mantra to drive him forward. His left shoulder was going numb, either from being trapped under him or from the partial dislocation he was sure he'd suffered. His right shoulder was a burning lump of agony that resisted each rotation as he swung his arm forward and pulled himself over the scuffed metal floor.

Harsh coughing, thick and bubbling with what was no doubt blood, echoed though the room and Steve had to pause at the panic that washed over him. That was bad. This whole damn mission had been bad from the start and he cursed the combination of bad intel, bad timing, and worse villainy that had led them here.

He swallowed down his own iron rich mouthful and set his jaw. This wasn't nearly the first time everything had gone wrong. Giving up wouldn't help anything. Tony's only chance was for him to keep pushing on.

He reached forward, stretching and biting back the howl of agony over the movement, fingers curling around the edge of the table leg ahead. Counting to three and pulling with everything he had, he yanked himself level with the leg.

His head dropped down again, eyes squeezing out a few hot tears as he sucked in air and trembled through the pain.

Tony was reclined against a tipped over chair, legs sprawled out before him. The mask was down, but gouged deeply, a crack scarring the angry visage of the Iron Man.

It was the piece of iron rebar, painted bloody red and glinting in the firelight, that rose from just this side of the arc reactor that stole Steve's breath.

It was opposite Tony's heart which was why he wasn't dead yet, but it— God, the arc reactor was damaged, the casing cracked and that steady blue glow now dark.

Steve's breath caught in his throat and then shuddered out of him on a sob.

The faceplate had retracted—or started to, then stopped.

"JARVIS," Tony was saying. "Lift the mask. I can't— I cant see Steve."

"I'm sorry, sir," JARVIS said, voice solemn.

Tony lay still for a moment too long and Steve's heart lurched as he thought maybe it was too late, that he'd just lost— But no, Tony sighed and said, "It's okay, J. It's okay."

"Sir, help will be there soon. Please hold on."

Steve could hear the sound of his own heart breaking in JARVIS' pleas. He had a moment of blinding pride in Tony, in his genius and love that had created such an incredible person as JARVIS, before Tony coughed again and Steve was pulled back to the the present.

"M'not giving up yet, J. M'not." A choked sound came out and Tony's left hand twitched, but dropped back down. He panted harshly, then sucked in a breath.

"Hey, hey, JARVIS. You're— You're the best. I'm sorry I couldn't— I was a shitty… person. Creator. Whatever."

"Father," Steve said. "And no, you weren't a shitty anything."

Tony jerked in surprise and then tried to move again, maneuvering to see out of the gap in the half-open faceplate. "Steve," he said softly, then louder. "Steve?"

Steve clenched his teeth until he felt the creak and pushed up to his knees, then to his feet. He bit back and swallowed half a dozen pained sounds and protests against the movement, but he wasn't going to bleed out ten feet away from Tony. He wasn't going to let him think he was alone.

He staggered the last few feet and collapsed, his hand leaving a bloody smear down the wall, and landing painfully on his hip. Well, not like he needed to worry about a bruise at this point anyway.

"Hold on," Steve said, He wrapped his gloved fingers under the edge of the mask and yanked sharply upwards, prying it free with a screech.

Blood cascaded down Tony's face from somewhere under his hairline and joined the spill from his mouth, giving him a garish mask of pseudo-warpaint, but his eyes focused on Steve. That's all that mattered right now.

"Steve," Tony said—sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm—" He choked and coughed, crying out in pain when the motions disagreed with the metal pole impaling him. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, Tony. Shhh. It's—" Steve had to pause to swallow. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm so—" God, he didn't know if it was the pain of his wounds or just his heart breaking, but he couldn't hardly get the words out. "I'm so proud of you." He pressed a kiss to Tony's temple. "So proud. You're my hero."

Tony's resolve broke then, the sobs ripping from his throat. "God, Steve, I can't— I can't—" He swallowed and shook his head. "I'm not going to— to make it. I'm sorry. I tried. I really—"

"I know. I know," Steve said, his own tears flowing freely. He bit down on the fingers of his glove and tugged it off. He wanted to feel Tony's skin while he still could. "Shh, it's okay." He worked his fingers in between the helmet and Tony's cheek, ignoring the way the metal scraped against his skin. "I know you did." He kissed Tony's temple again and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry I can't fix this."

"Not your fault," Tony immediately denied, shaking his head as much as he could. "Not your fault at all. I wouldn't— I wouldn't have made it half this long without you. Just promise me. Promise me you'll— Don't give up. They need you and you can't give up. They need you."

Steve grimaced at the thought of his stomach, the way he'd been holding his own intestines in his hands for the last ten minutes. He never had been able to deny Tony anything when he asked like that, but he couldn't lie either.

"Tony, I—" He let out a shuddering breath. "I'm not going to make it either. I'm sorry."

Tony fell quiet again and Steve had to look down to see if he was gone. Eyelids fell and rose over glassy brown eyes.

"Oh."

Steve had no idea what to say, he didn't know what to do or think right now. He was dying—they were both dying—and there wasn't going to be any last minute rescue. The rest of the team was inbound but they were hours out still. They weren't going to make it in time.

He rested his cheek on Tony's head and just… held him.

After a few moments, Tony's voice came, barely audible. "JARVIS? I need the gauntlet… the left gauntlet. Get it off. I need— I need it off. Please. Now. Please."

Whirring and clanking followed and the gauntlet fell away. Tony's arm bent at the elbow and came up. Steve watched it tremble in the air for a moment before he reached out and grabbed it in his own.

"Thanks," Tony started, breath shortening. "Thanks for… everything. For— for—"

"I know, Tony," Steve said, his own breath coming short though the sobs that bottlenecked in his throat. "I know. Thank you too."

Tony huffed a laugh. "It's been a hell of a ride."

Steve laughed too. "It has. There's no one I'd rather have taken it with."

Tony started gasping, blood bubbling out on every exhale, and Steve knew it was coming. Any second now it would stop. He didn't want Tony to hurt anymore, but, God, he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready.

"I love you," he said fervently. "Tony, I love you. I love you." He pressed kisses to Tony's hair in between repetitions. He needed him to know, he needed Tony to hear that.

Tony coughed and choked. "I— I love— you— love you too," he gasped.

And then he was gone.

Steve held his breath after the last one hiccuped out of Tony, but it never came. Pain built in his lungs and they screamed for air, and then they were screaming out loud. He was screaming out loud.

He clutched Tony's hand in his, willing the lax fingers to grip his one more time, for Tony to look at him one more time, to say something—anything—one more time.

The sobs hurt, they jarred his wounds and ripped at his heart and wouldn't stop. Until he too was gasping. He'd come so close to death so many times and it had been terrifying and horrible and he'd fought it every time. But this time he didn't.

This time he surrendered willingly.

He didn't know, after aliens and losing seventy years and super villains and everything else he'd seen, what came after this life. He just hoped he wasn't alone.

Laying his head down on Tony's as he had so many times in their bed, he wrapped his fingers more tightly around the ones he'd held for years, in joy, in pain, in love, on their wedding day and on their wedding night, a faint clink as his ring brushed Tony's sounding between his short breaths, and closed his eyes.

o.o

Clint was the one that found them.

After they'd gotten the fire out and begun searching the wreckage, hoping against hope that they'd find them holed up in a closet somewhere, necking or sleeping or even injured but holding on, he found them in the control room. Steve was wrapped around Tony they way he had been on so many movie nights, in hospital beds when Tony pulled some stupid ass stunt that by God had worked somehow.

He turned and gagged, bringing up the food Nat had made him eat while they flew out since he'd missed dinner.

It took a moment before he was able to turn back again. There wasn't any reason to check for a pulse. He just hoped they'd already been… gone before the fire got to them.

He turned to leave and report his findings, but stopped when a glint of light caught his eye. He turned back and crouched down. It took a moment to convince himself to touch, but he did, picking up the sooty metal from the ashes.

He rubbed it clean and turned it over in his hands, frowning. Then it hit him what it was and he nearly went to dry heave some more.

The vibranium—shaved from the edges of Steve's shield—had survived intact, the engraving inside the band still legible between the melted gold—taken from Tony's latest armor at the time—that had melted and resolidified around it.

He stood, clenching his fist around the metal and then shoved it in his pocket. Turning, he headed for the door.

He tapped his earpiece and started to speak, but had to pause and swallow. "I found them," he announced over the line. "Call off the search. I found them."

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So, yeah, that… happened. Sorry. Feel free to send your gross sobbing, fiery death threats, and general feels to me in a review or PM. *offers cookie?*


End file.
